


Gift the Night

by cat_77



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Winter Solstice, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: Just because the night is long, doesn’t mean it has to be so dark.





	Gift the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written during and for Yule 2018.
> 
> * * *

“We don’t really-” Alec started, but Magnus cut him off with a wave.

“Yes, yes, I know, Nephilim do not usually celebrate the holidays, at least not in the ways of the Mundanes or even the Downworlders,” he recited. He knew the whole explanation by heart by now, of how all religions were one, or none as they saw fit. Descendants of angels, but the otherworldly beings showed up in enough mythologies, albeit by different names, that to lock into just one way simply didn’t fit their needs nor lifestyle.

“Is this one of those things where I argue, you argue back, and you get your way anyway? Especially since your way in this instance is to hold a party, which you would find a reason to do so without the excuse of a holiday?” Alec guessed.

“Pretty much,” Magnus agreed readily enough. He tweaked a ribbon just so before he turned to look at his bemused and amused lover. “Think of it this way: so many different religions and cultures have celebrations this time of year, enough so that it simply makes sense that there must be some reason to celebrate in the first place. If nothing else, it can be an excuse to get friends and family together to enjoy each others’ company during an admittedly not always bright spot of the year.”

“With good food and drinks to be had?” Alec guessed.

Magnus scoffed. “Of course, what kind of host do you take me for?”

“And presents?” the other man added with a wry twist of his lips.

“I will be following the warlock tradition of honoring the fact that we have survived yet another turn of the wheel and made it through the darkest days back into the light,” he confirmed. “That said, absolutely no one is required nor expected to reciprocate, especially if their own beliefs do not coincide with those ways.”

It was true. The party was not aligned with the standard Christmas that was so popular, nor was it set during Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or any others. This year, at least. It was set during the Winter Solstice, Yule as some called it. An astrological and technically astronomical date. The party began at sundown, and he as well as a few others would tend the fires through the darkest and longest night of the year until the sun rose once more. He didn’t expect his guests to follow suit, but he did expect them to enjoy themselves, for whatever time they were willing or able to stop by.

Catarina and Madzie were the first to arrive. Quite some time before night fell, the two older warlocks walked the younger through the preparation and silently placed bets on when they would find her curled up in some corner somewhere sound asleep. Raphael and Simon came just after sunset, one offering a host gift of fine wine, and the other of challah bread that smelled fresh from the oven. There had been the promise of latkes and, while he didn’t wholly trust the daylighter’s cooking abilities, the soon to be present Clary swore his were the best. 

The Nephilim as a whole trickled in as their duties allowed, some dressed to the nines and some in their standard black. Then again, he had seen both dear Isabelle and Clary fight in those same style of dresses before, so perhaps they truly had just worn their standard gear. The last to arrive was Luke, and not because of his shift at the station so much as stopping to pick up both Maia and Maryse along the way, the last of which bringing with a surprise of her youngest son Max, much to the delight of his siblings.

The guests mingled and ate and drank and told stories both old and new. Some had tucked brightly wrapped packages beneath the tree in the corner, cautious of the magically lit candles that adorned it, and he had no idea where the box full of pastries nor the case of horrible domestic beer had come from, but decided not to question it and only share a knowing grimace with Maia when she took in the bottled offerings. He didn’t even object when a certain blond parabatai started roasting marshmallows over the sacred fire, and only offered more skewers and a platter filled with graham crackers and chocolate bars to allow for the full s’more experience.

It was nearing eight when Alec wrapped his arms around him and hooked his chin over his shoulder from behind. Together, they watched as young Madzie ran from guest to guest on some quest she had decided upon. Correction: she ran from Nephilim to Nephilim, including the former Shadowhunters of Luke and Maryse in her troubles. She had summoned a bronze bell some time ago and would swing it towards them, pout, and then move on to the next one to repeat the process.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Alec stage whispered after the sorceress had completed her ritual with him.

Magnus shook his head, truly boggled, but it was Catarina who huffed out a chuckle and explained, “We watched _It’s a Wonderful Life_ this weekend.”

Alec made a face of confusion, but Magnus barked out a laugh. It made sense now why she had chosen only those of angelic blood. “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings,” he quoted readily enough. It was followed by a poke at his lover and a promise to show him the classic sometime soon.

“So she’s...” Alec prompted, still confused. The child had moved on to a second round, which apparently entailed ringing the bell repeatedly and with a great deal of force in front of each of the angel-blooded. At one point, Jace reached to steady her as she overbalanced in her candy cane red boots. She responded by thanking him, and then trying again even more vehemently.

A thought crossed Magnus’ mind and, with a grin, he verified Catarina would maintain the fire while he attended his self-appointed ask, mini-warlock in hand. After a few false starts and a judicious use of magic to clean up the results, he returned and accepted the mug of mulled wine that awaited him.

“Do I even want to know?” Catarina asked with a shake of her head. He wasn’t fooled and knew that she both appreciated his efforts in curtailing any grand plan of her charge as well clearly keeping her happy if the grins and giggles were any tell. A tempter tantrum had been abated, energy redirected - and he meant that in every sense, and a positive outcome achieved. He was good, if he did say so himself.

Not that they needed to wait much longer to see the results anyway. Madzie was near vibrating with excitement and Simon encouraged her even more while Clary just laughed and told people how he had always been like that, though usually over the course of eight nights and not just one. With those two on board, Maia soon followed while Luke laughed and Maryse commented that she was proud of her own children for showing such restraint. Magnus wasn’t fooled, he had overheard Isabelle explaining to Max which runes worked best for determining just what was hidden behind the paper and bows.

The group as a whole took pity on the child and let her hand out the little packages she had accumulated first, a task completed by her physically floating them to each recipient. They were all roughly the same size, though some consisted more of tape than wrapping paper, and each had a single letter inscribed on the outside in Sharpie. Max and Maia checked to make sure they had the correct ones, but it was Isabelle who verified, “All at once, or one at a time?” with regards to the etiquette of opening.

When the response was simply Madzie jumping up and down and chanting, “Open! Open!” they all dug in together.

Everyone had received objects similar in nature, but they had been individualized for each person. Magnus had cheated and summoned simple wooden frames, but Madzie had gone to town on each with glitter and glue and occasionally pretty stones that he really hoped she had summoned from a lake or river and not some place like a museum. It was what was inside each frame that were the real presents though.

The Nephilim each received hand drawn and slightly lopsided wings, each set carefully crafted with a specific recipient in mind. Clary’s were a brilliant red and Jace’s were a shiny gold set upon a dark gray background to show them off. Isabelle’s were the darkest charcoal the child could find, highlighted with a sparkle of silver, while his dear Alexander’s were similar, only with the tips pointed like his beloved arrows. She hadn’t known Max as well but, after a retelling of his adventures with runes and fire, she had made a set similar to his siblings’ and set upon a bright red paper. Maryse received simple black atop white and, when she looked as though she were going to question the gift given her deruned status, Madzie definitively put a stop to that with, “Can’t change who you are.”

That also explained Luke and Maia’s gifts. Maia’s was a dark paw print atop a sea of blue that shimmered when it caught the light, the girls having discussed the werewolf’s love of water and the life it held earlier in the evening. Luke’s was also a paw print, but that paw was stamped between two wings of his own. His, like the other feathery creations, glinted and glowed and seemed to almost move across the paper when it was turned to and fro, the result of a simple charm Magnus had helped the mini warlock with upon request.

Simon and Raphael had looked on indulgently, right up until she pointed out that they too had gifts to open. With a shrug, Simon managed to tug the tape free and then smiled at what had been buried beneath. He hugged her and thanked her, but it was Raphael that crouched down to her level and very seriously told her, “This is a cherished gift.” He didn’t show his off as much, but Simon proudly displayed a brightly colored sunrise that seemed to almost glow from within, the frame that held it a deep red adorned with vast amounts of everything shiny.

Magnus had thought that was that and was about to go tend to the fire again and let the others have a moment with their gifts before they moved on to others, but turned to find his littlest charge staring up at him expectantly. “Open,” she repeated, and it was then that he realized a small package had been placed on the arm of his chair while he had been engrossed with everyone else’s responses.

He looked at it curiously as he had not seen her create anything for him, and glanced over to where Catarina held her own gift of shakily inscribed runes for protection and family of both Chthonian and Nephilim in nature. “She asked. I might have distracted you while she made it. I think I got all of the glitter out of your carpet though,” the other warlock shrugged with a knowing grin.

Magnus very carefully opened his own gift to find the expected frame, and noticed more than a single rune against the wood. The picture itself though, is what caught his eye: wings of his own, not quite feathers and not quite not, black against a deep charcoal gray. It was a tribute to his father’s heritage as much as his bond with a certain Shadowhunter, and it warmed his heart all the more for it.

“Can’t change who you are,” Alec whispered, arm wrapped around him, before he pressed a kiss to his temple.

The longest night of the year seemed to fly by after that. Simon kept his promise to make latkes and they were able to put out the small grease fire with little consequence when Isabelle attempted to help. Other presents were opened and shared, food and drink flowed freely, and the true fire was kept going until the barest rays of the light were visible on the horizon. 

Once the sun was full and bright, long after Raphael had departed and Luke and Maryse had begged off as too old and mortal to stay awake for so long, coffee and tea and and practically anything else anyone wanted was shared with enthusiasm. Later still, before he curled up with his sleepy Alexander, he took one last look at the detritus of the night’s events. Some he cleaned with a wave of his hand, but the carefully placed pictures and the trails of sparkle they left behind he kept as testament to the memories shared.


End file.
